Ships that Pass in the Night
by Mestizaa
Summary: A collection of rare pairs and crack ships. Angst, fluff and everything in between. Anything is possible. Chap 3: Harold/Rosamund
1. Flame: Violet & Bill Molesley

**A/N: **So I did something weird. I took chatelaine-s's Chelsie Challenge Prompts, and a list of characters and then I drew them from a hat. I'm a sucker for rare pairs and crack ships so I figured, why not?

First up? **Flame:** **Violet/Molesley Sr.**

**Summary:** Violet visits Bill Molesley's garden. Why she bothers with an old gardener like him, he will never know.

**Full disclosure: **It's a bit sad and melancholic. Proceed with caution.

* * *

**Flame**

Why she bothers with an old gardener like him, Bill Molesley will never know. But sometimes he allows himself to suspect_._

It's a beautiful spring day when he hears the sound of her cane and heels clicking against the cobblestone path. Over the years, she has visited often, but never with much warning. He walks round to greet her at the front, a welcoming smile gracing his worn features. He wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his hand, missing a smudge of dirt across his cheek.

"Good afternoon, Mr Molesley!" she greets politely. Always so polite. "How are your roses coming?"

"Very well, Milday. Thank you for asking," he says. Winter is finally a memory, and he is glad to be be knee deep in his garden fighting a war against the weeds once again.

"Will you be entering the Flower Show this year?" she questions.

"Not this year, Milady," Bill shakes his head. If he's not mistaken, a hint of disappointment flickers across the Dowager's face. He wrings his gloves in front of him. "I don't think Joseph approves of me gardening anymore," he admits. "Not at my age anyway."

The Dowager peers toward the tools he left lying about. "Ah yes, that is one of the reasons I have others to do it for me," she says pointedly with a small chuckle. "The ends justifies the means." He blinks, mesmerized by the rare mirth dancing in her eyes.

These moments are rare, and she knows he knows that. He already knows so much about her, especially impressive considering their years of veiled conversations led by her. He never asks her about her life, her interests, her remaining hopes and her heart's true desires, not even if he wanted to. It's not how things are done.

Violet thinks that maybe he could have known her _so completely. _If only she let him. If only she were able to.

_If only._

"It is a shame you won't be participating," her eyes are fixed on a flower that has yet to bloom. "You are a worthy adversary, Mr Molesley."

"Thank you, Milady," he nods, tries to prolong this moment. "As are you."

She grips her cane tightly, and thinks about what to say next. She thinks about asking him to come round, to give her garden an inspection before the Flower Show. Maybe give the gardeners under her employ some much needed advice. And then maybe she could ask him to stay for tea. Maybe even dinner.

But they're too old to be playing with fire, to be licked by flames and watch everything burn down around them. So the Dowager Countess shakes her head to douse the fire and watches as the embers burn cold.

For they are artifacts from a time long gone. They are the last of the Edwardians and their lives are a setting sun.

* * *

**Next up: Silver- Mary/Charles Grigg.** (I don't even know.)


	2. Silver: Mary & Charles Grigg

**A/N:** This one is weird. I drew Mary &amp; Charles Grigg from the hat. My first reaction was "WHY DID I EVEN INCLUDE HIM AS AN OPTION?" After a conversation with muddlethrough, this went in a totally different direction than I had originally intended.

**Summary: **After Carson doesn't go with Mary to Haxby, she has a chance encounter with an old friend of his. A story about two people who find each other at their lowest.

Surprisingly, this turned out rather light on the Mary/Grigg front. It's there... but you have to squint. Instead, it turned into what is a ship sinking of Carlisle/Mary (sorry to all those shippers) with a hint of Chelsie.

This is the darkest timeline. **Warning: Alcohol, shitty marriages, dark themes… proceed with caution.**

Please do let me know what you think!

* * *

**Silver**

There must have been a moment. A moment when all the possibilities aligned and Lady Mary Crawley made a conscious decision. She flicks through her journal and tries to pinpoint the day when she decided to settle for second-best than for the gold she always strived for. The day when it became clear that she would be destined to remain a stranger in her own home.

Her husband walks in unannounced and she refuses to be startled by him. "What are you doing?" he asks.

There was a time she thought Richard's demeanor was endearing. A time when she thought it meant he would be able understand her ice cold heart. Now she finds it exhausting.

"I'm writing in my journal, if you must know," she closes the leather-bound book and rests her hands over it. "Don't worry, I made sure to fill it with blatant lies so you won't have to."

These days, the insults and subtle barbs slip off her tongue without her even noticing. Designed to cut and tear at opened wounds, they've become second nature. And he hurls his words back at her. What once was verbal sparring has become a war, and her armor is getting dented and worn.

She stands and brushes past him in the doorway. "I'm going to bed," she declares. She doesn't bother to bid goodnight. Doesn't expect him to either.

As she stands in her room, and watches her Lady's Maid put her jewellery away, she thinks that there must have been a moment when she made a choice.

* * *

Carson made a choice. He chose not to honour their agreement and to stay at Downton instead. He chose to abandon her. And there was no doubt in Mary's mind that he had something to do with Anna's decision as well. She has no allies in her own house; she is constantly checking over her shoulder for her husband's spies.

She tries not to dwell on it. But sometimes, she remembers how _alone _she really is.

She gets restless. Does things purposefully to rile up Richard. The more he tightens his grip, the more she resists. She invites guests to dinner without telling him, has the furniture rearranged, spends her nights at London's newest clubs. Acts like she isn't a married woman and wishes that it were true.

* * *

One evening, she finds herself in the seediest of pubs. The dim smoky room was full of men leering at her as she walked in.

For a brief second, she thinks that maybe she should have dressed down. Maybe worn a different hat. But she shrugs off the thought as quickly as it came. Lady Mary Crawley doesn't dress for anybody but herself.

An man with hair that is more silver than gold catches her eye near the bar. He's trying to sweet talk an unimpressed bar wench. There is nothing unusual about that in itself. The bar wench scowls at his poor attempt and walks away without a second glance.

"Charlie Carson was always able to get the girls," he huffed.

And those are the words that pique her interest.

"Who are you and how do you know Charles Carson?" she demands.

He takes a swig of his drink and turns around slowly. "Depends on who's asking."

"Lady Mady Carlisle," she says. "Now answer the question."

Charlie Grigg tells her stories and sings songs and makes her _laugh_ properly for the first time in years. Somehow, she had been persuaded to take off her hat and share a pint with this man. She heavily suspects that she'll be paying for all of it so she might as well enjoy herself.

"I don't believe you," she giggles and takes another sip of her drink. "Carson? Singing and dancing… being cheerful? You're making this up!"

"I couldn't make this up even if I tried," Charlie promised. "He was a natural. Did you know he can juggle too?"

Mary pauses. The thought of Carson juggling was inherently funny, and yet.. it seems oddly familiar. "Actually, now that I think about it, I think I did," she admits softly. "I have a vague memory of him juggling the silverware to keep me entertained. I must have been very young…" She shakes her head to clear her thoughts. "What happened then? Why did you stop?"

Charlie shrugs. "I stole his girl and he left."

"That's unfortunate. If it's any consolation, I asked him to come with me and he declined."

"Why?" Charlie frowns.

"He never said," she says. "It really hurts to be abandoned. But then to be abandoned by somebody who is loyal to a fault and not even know why…that's something else entirely."

Charlie's mirth vanishes for a moment as he watches Mary down the rest of her glass. "Forgive me for asking, but what are you even doing here?"

Mary matches his gaze with her own. "I reckon the same as you."

"I'm a lonely old man with my best days behind me," he points out. "And you, you're a beautiful young woman with her life ahead of her."

And maybe it's because she's drunk and tired and it's late and for the first time in a long time somebody is _bothering_ to ask, that she allows herself to be honest for the first time in months.

"Mr Grigg, there is no age limit on loneliness," she tells him.

He takes her words and lets it sink in. "I'll drink to that." He takes a swig and crinkles his brow in disappointment when he realizes it's empty.

"I suppose that means that it's time for another round," Mary says nonchalantly. It takes everything she has not to burst out into giggles at Grigg's astonished expression.

"Only if you're paying for it," he winks.

* * *

The next day, she wakes up in her own bed with a blinding headache, the taste of stale alcohol on her breath, and Richard seated on a chair at the foot of her bed waiting.

"Where were you last night?"

"Jesus Christ, Richard," Mary groans. "How long have you been there?"

It doesn't surprise her when he doesn't answer the question. "You were out until 4 in the morning. Where were you?"

Mary sits up and leans against her bed frame. "I don't know why you're asking when you already know the answer."

"I'm giving you an opportunity to explain yourself."

She snorts. "And say what? That this was all some misunderstanding."

"Don't you test me," Richard narrows his eyes. "Don't you ever forget that I have the power to ruin you."

"And don't you forget that when you married me you gave me the power to ruin you," she snapped. "Everything I do is a reflection on you. I have nothing left to lose, but you… you have everything," she points to the door. "Now if you please, _get out_."

"Clearly, you're still drunk," He stands and hovers by the door for a moment. "We'll talk about this later."

Mary hums noncommittally. She knows full well that they probably won't.

* * *

Sybil is the only one who writes to Mary with any consistency, and while she doesn't always respond in kind, Mary is grateful to have a sister who refuses to drift away. She opens the latest letter, and Mary has to reread it several times to fully comprehend the gravitas of the words etched on the page.

Carson and Mrs Hughes have eloped.

Sybil writes that they only just found out and that the house has been turned upside down.

Mary doesn't care about that.

_Carson and Mrs Hughes have eloped. _

Is that why he stayed at Downton? For Mrs Hughes?

Reading that letter again, Mary realizes that there had been a moment, a juncture and that at some point a conscious decision had been made. The moment when Carson chose love. The same moment when Mary chose self-preservation and hate.

* * *

Charlie Grigg is easy to find, especially considering he didn't seem to have moved since she last saw him. She slides into the seat across from him. "I have some news about Carson."

His furrows his brow.

"He eloped with the housekeeper."

Silence. And then hysterical laughter. "Oh I thought you were going to tell me he had died!" Charlie wipes a tear from his eye. "I can't believe the old boy still has it in him!"

And the corner of her lips turns upwards. "Neither can I."

* * *

That night, Mary has a moment. A moment when everything aligns and Lady Mary Carlisle makes a conscious decision.

Over dinner, she tells him.

"I want a divorce."

She chooses love.

* * *

**Next up: Accusation- Harold/Rosamund.**


	3. Accusation: Harold & Rosamund

A/N: This one is actually somewhat fluffy and has no angst wut?

Summary: After the family finds out that Harold and Rosamund were having an affair, the family sits them down to talk and it's all kinds of awkward.

* * *

**Accusation**

"I don't understand."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Rosamund sighs at her brother's unwillingness and inability to process this (admittedly shocking) information.

"Robert, it's really not that complicated," she sighs, straightening slightly in her uncomfortable seat. She refuses to waver under her family's judgmental gaze.

Everybody has an opinion and they all feel the need to share it. Her mother is furious, her brother is perpetually confused, and Martha seems to be highly amused by this ridiculous intervention. If she wasn't on the receiving end of it, perhaps Rosamund would find it something other than annoying.

Cora hasn't said anything yet, but Rosamund suspects that she will be getting an earful later in the evening. It will probably involve hushed accusations in her dressing room along the lines of, "What were you _thinking_ Rosamund? My _brother_?"

She hadn't been thinking. And that is precisely why they are now in this situation, sitting side by side on the settee in the library while everybody else made grand melodramatic accusations of scandal, trying (and failing) to understand something that she doesn't quite understand herself.

"We've been through it already. The rumours are true," she says crisply. "Harold and I are_having an affair._"

This is the first time that she's given a name to their stolen nights in London.

An affair. They've been having _an affair._

Her mother grimaces."Rosamund, if you are are trying to make me ill, you are succeeding."

Rosamund raises an unamused eyebrow, about to bite back with an acerbic remark, when Harold interrupts her.

"I don't see what the fuss is about," Harold shrugs beside her. "We're two consenting adults. What's the big deal?"

"The _big deal_, Harold," her dear mama is seething. She tightens her grip on her cane, "is that you are not married. You have no title. Simply put, you are not good enough for my daughter!"

"Hey!" Martha interrupts, thoroughly annoyed. "My son is a catch! Any girl would be lucky to have him – even Ms Holier-than-thou over here."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Mama says through clenched teeth. Rosamund shoots her a pointed glare. She is thankful when Cora finally speaks, putting an end to these juvenile insults.

Cora's eyes dart between Harold and Rosamund. "I want to know what your intentions are," she states simply. And then she asks the question that nobody had even considered.

"Are you in love?"

The truth was, Rosamund hadn't really thought about it. It didn't matter really. He's going back to America soon, and she'll go back to her life in London.

"Regardless if they are or not, they'll have to marry," the Dowager's authority is made clear.

"But...but... they're related!" Robert's eyes just about popped out of his skull. "They can't."

Martha shakes her head and scoffs. " I don't understand you people. It's okay that Mary married her cousin, but it's not okay for Harold and Rosamund? They're not even blood relatives!"

"For once, I agree with the American," Rosamund rolls her eyes at her mother. "Rosamund, you're going to have to get married," she reiterates.

It's something about the way her mother said that made her snap.

"Oh mother, stop it. It's the 20th Century. I don't have any virtue that can be lost. Like Harold said, we are two consenting adults and that's really all that should matter. Besides, what do you think would happen if we were to marry? He's not going to move to London, and I sure as hell am not going to America."

"Rosamund!" Her poor mother was going to have a heart attack.

She stands, and Harold follows. "Harold, darling. Would you please accompany me back to my house?"

"Pleasure is all mine, my dear," he puts his hat on, and offers her his arm.

Rosamund's mother is fuming. "What, pray tell, will you be doing at your house?"

"Oh mama," Rosamund smirks, "Use your imagination."


End file.
